


Sam Between

by Rivestra



Series: Sam Squared [1]
Category: Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: BDSM, Dom Sam Winchester, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Sub Sam Seaborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/pseuds/Rivestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>California's been hard on Sam Seaborn, but a fund-raising trip to Stanford winds up giving him something he never knew he needed.  (Set in the time period between 4x09 and 4x17 of the West Wing [while Sam was campaigning in California], which coincides nicely with the Stanford days of Sam Winchester, especially if you squint a little.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Between

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to snarkgoddess for encouragement, beta duties, and for being one of the few people on the planet who have any interest in this pairing.  
> This was written for my 2009 kink bingo "Hand Fetish" square, but I kinda squeezed a bunch of other kinks in, too. Apparently, I've been looking for an excuse to write toppy!Sam Winchester and subby!Sam Seaborn for a while... 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Written purely for fun; no profit or harm intended. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.

The building had looked normal from the outside, bubbling over with people just as he’d expect from any college party, Stanford Law or not. The address matched the one Corrina had scrawled onto one of her ubiquitous green post-its.

Corrina, who was so fired.

Someone moved behind him, and Sam took another step back, edging toward the corner blindly, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle of the girl occupying the center of the room.

She’d looked normal at first, too.

He allowed himself to keep staring openly – rationalizing that it would be impolite _not_ to watch such a deliberate show. The man with her drew his arm back again and Sam felt his breath quicken and his cock swell. He couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried.

The whip cracked, loud despite the crowded room. It left a long angry welt across the girl’s back, and Sam felt a whisper of it across his own skin. He ducked backwards fractionally, but there was nowhere left to go, and his ass bumped hard into the man standing behind him. 

Hard being the operative word. 

Sam turned, mouth open to offer an apology that froze on his lips; the guy was grinning, wide and predatory. He reached out and casually tugged at Sam’s necktie. 

Sam skittered away from the contact, but there was still nowhere to go and he crashed into an end table. He would have fallen then, a tangle of lamp, limbs and befuddled reflexes, if not for the strong hand that caught him by the elbow. 

"Easy, there." The voice was low and smooth and too near, right in Sam’s ear. "You all right?" The guy was leaning in close, but there was nothing except concern on his handsome face. 

Sam let his guard slip back down from DEFCON 4 and offered back, "I’m…" just as someone cranked up the music and the man in the center of the room really stepped up the action. He had a heavy wooden cane and was swinging it, almost to the beat, in a steady, pounding rhythm against the girl’s ass. She was bent nearly in half, gripping the legs of some kind of padded sawhorse and facing Sam’s way.

Sweat streaked down her face, maybe tears too. Once again, Sam couldn’t look away. Her eyes were wide open, but she was _gone_ , oblivious to the crowd and focused only on the sensations coursing through her. She arched _up_ into each blow, in perfect concert with the guy wielding the cane, totally alive and in the moment. 

Sam was so hard he hurt, his blood pounding in his cock in time with the blows. Absolutely mesmerized, it took him a while to realize that the guy who’d caught him was talking again, still right into his ear but louder now because of the music. "…lose the tie if you’re gonna stand around with _that_ look on your face."

All Sam could manage was a loud and unintelligent, "What?" aimed in the general direction of the guy’s ear. 

The guy moved in a little closer, shifting them both a bit until Sam had to strain to see the center of the room. His hand tightened on Sam’s elbow and he said, "I need you to focus for a minute. I need to know if you’re okay. Are you?" 

Someone moved between them and the action, blocking Sam’s view completely. His pulse still raced with the rhythm of the music – of the blows - but his focus was… improving. 

"Hey," the guy drew his gaze with two fingers against his cheek, hot pinpoints against flushed skin. Sam’s eyes followed them when they drew back and kept following when they pointed back at their owner’s face. Sam just about fell into the guy’s eyes, headfirst and tumbling. "Are you on something tonight, or are you just a complete newbie?" Those eyes were decidedly amused and so was their owner’s tone.

A high, "No!" squeaked into the air between them, but it wasn’t until the guy’s eyebrows shot up in question that Sam realized it had come from him. He clarified: "No drugs. I don’t take drugs."

The guy chuckled softly, and they were still so close that Sam felt it ghost against his cheek. He swayed on his feet, but that hand was still on his elbow, and it tightened to steady him, warm and solid even through his dress shirt. He was moving before the man’s gentle, "Let’s get you away from the crowd a bit, okay?" fully registered.

Twenty feet and a set of French balcony doors made a significant difference to Sam’s equilibrium. There were people out here, but their voices were subdued. The bass line still pulsed in the cool night air, and his heart still pounded with the music, but he was starting to be able to think past it again. 

"Better?"

Sam nodded slowly, not trusting himself to move quickly. _That had been… well, he didn't really know what that had been, other than **intense**._ The hand at his elbow gave a reassuring squeeze and let go. Sam leaned after it, his body following its fading warmth without stopping to wait for input from his brain. 

"Whoa, there." The hand came back, this time at his shoulder. Sam stared at the long fingers splayed across his upper arm, clean, close-clipped nails pushing in where the grip was just a little tight. The fingertips pressed reassuringly against his arm, radiating a steadying heat that sunk in deep, grounding him and helping him shut out everything else. 

He heard the guy say in a quiet, authority-laced tone, "Give us the balcony please," and felt more than heard the space clear without another word. It was comforting. He couldn't help but relax into that grip; right then, it felt like the best place in the world to be, the only warm place in all of California.

Eventually, Sam had to acknowledge that he'd been still too long. His eyes moved up, taking in the thin black band around the man’s wrist, tracing the heavy lines of corded muscle up to where his arm disappeared into the sleeve of a white linen shirt. His gaze shifted sideways to where the shirt gaped open to expose a long, solid line of chest and abdomen. Those perfect abs disappeared into leather that stretched snug and low over the guy’s hips and didn’t do a thing to hide the fact that he was enjoying watching Sam look him over.

Sam wrenched his gaze back up – a long way up, the guy had six inches on him, easy –hitting a fringe of shaggy hair before dropping a bit and almost getting lost again in those deep green eyes. 

Deep green _amused_ eyes. "I take it you've never been to one of these before?" 

"No." Sam shook his head with the negative. He was steadier now, really standing on his own, but that hand stayed solid on his shoulder, the thumb beginning to rub casually across his bicep, intimate even through the designer fabric of his shirt.

Voice low, the guy leaned in close to ask, "So how’d a newbie like you even get through the door?"

Sam’s eyes narrowed, searching his memory. _Ah. Right._ "I met a girl outside. We came in together." 

The guy chuckled. "Of _course_ you did." He looked around the balcony dramatically. "So, where’d she go?"

Before he’d thought it through, Sam glanced back through the patio doors, toward the woman in center of the room. The guy’s eyes got wide for a second, and then he let out a real laugh from his gut, a little too loud in its honesty. He shut the sound down quickly, but was still glowing with mirth when he asked, "You followed _Elenora_ inside? Did she warn you _at all?_ "

"No." Sam worked his jaw thoughtfully before continuing in what even he recognized as a defensive tone, "I thought I had the right address." The guy just watched until Sam worked himself around to adding hopefully, "I don’t suppose the _Students for the Future of America_ fundraiser is somewhere in this building?" 

That laugh was even louder this time, echoing out across the patio, and the guy actually brought his hand up to his mouth to cut it off. Sam watched those green eyes dance while the guy settled himself down again, and tried not to mourn the loss of that heat on his shoulder. A long moment later, the guy managed, "No," He nodded back toward the crowded room. "No fundraisers here tonight."

All of a sudden, both of those hands were back on Sam, cupping his neck, their heat searing where skin touched skin. "Let’s get you out of that tie before you go back inside."

Earnest, Sam said, "I _like_ my tie." It was checkered blue Armani silk, what could be wrong with it?

Smiling, the guy’s right hand started working at the knotted silk. "I can tell, but you need to take it off." His left hand came around behind Sam’s head, fingers sliding smoothly into short hair, cupping Sam’s skull and tilting it to get a better angle.

The guy slipped the tie across Sam’s neck, dragging it down slowly then winding it up into a ball with careful fingers. 

Sam’s mouth was dry and his tongue came out to wet his lips. It took effort to look up from those fingers and ask, "Why?" Josh had given him that tie.

"Because around here," he slipped the blue silk into the front pocket of Sam’s pants, "it means something you’re not ready for." He pushed the tie down deep into the pocket, brushing fire against Sam’s cock. "At least not yet."

Sam swallowed hard. "Try me."

Suddenly, those hands were back in his hair, both of them, hot enough to boil whatever was left of his brain. They slid through, holding him in place for a crushing kiss, all wet and messy and _demanding as hell_. Thumbs brushed downward, pressing against his jaw line and levering his mouth open to accept tongue and teeth and whatever else those hands wanted him to take.

Sam held on for dear life. He clung shamelessly and accepted whatever he was given, pliant but far from passive. Almost of their own accord, Sam’s hands found their way up the open back of the guy’s shirt, sparking against skin. 

Mouth dropping lower, the guy growled against Sam’s throat and thrust one leather-clad leg between Sam’s, and so help him, Sam pushed into it, thrusting against all that hard muscle. Those huge hands cupped his ass, and he was lifted, back suddenly against the wall of the apartment, its cold a shocking contrast to all that heat.

It brought him back to himself a little. Enough to realize he was out in the open. Enough to realize having public, gay, kinky sex wasn’t going to help him win Orange County. Hell, any _one_ of those would kill his campaign for sure.

Sam tugged at the guy’s hair. "I can’t do this."

The guy growled again – it was almost more of a whine this time, really – but he pulled his mouth away from Sam’s neck with a wet pop. Those marvelous hands guided Sam to the ground (and when, exactly, had Sam’s legs come up to wrap around the other man’s waist?). His voice was still amused when he said, "Of course not," but it had a cold edge to it now, all that heat frozen in place.

He started to pull away, but Sam suddenly couldn’t help himself and reached out to grab at the man’s hand. He stared at it, fascinated, so huge against his own. Softly, Sam said, "I mean, I can’t _in public, damn it_." He brought his eyes up to meet the guy’s stare and his voice was dark and low when he added, "Don’t you dare walk away."

The guy cocked his head at Sam and said, "Don’t _I_ dare?" He turned Sam’s hand in his, easily circling Sam’s smaller wrist in a tight grip. 

Sam felt his breathing quicken and released an almost whispered, "Yes," into the night air. 

The guy reeled him in by the wrist until they were chest to chest. Letting his impatience show now, he growled, "Yes to what?"

_"Anything."_

The kiss was violent and sudden, searing through him and over in a flash. A bit breathless, the guy asked, "You got someplace we can go?" with his mouth pressed so close behind Sam’s ear that his words tickled.

It took Sam a minute to parse the question. Once he had, once he’d thought of his hotel, swarming with aides and campaign staff, he swore, "Fuck."

"Probably not tonight, newbie." Sam’s face fell so hard he thought it was going to crack on the deck below. The guy chuckled at him, and the sound went straight to Sam’s cock, making it twitch into the leather-clad thigh it was pressed against. A predatory, "Not unless you’re really good," followed, and Sam may have whimpered a little, he couldn’t be sure.

A firm hand grabbed his chin, bringing it up again. "Don’t worry though, I’ll find a way to take care of you _discreetly_. Follow my lead."

He seemed to be waiting for something, so Sam let out another, "Yes," his voice not quite breaking on the syllable. 

The guy nodded at him, then released his chin. He spun Sam around and grabbed his arms, bringing Sam’s wrists together in a hold behind Sam’s back, gripping them tightly in one of his hands. The move was military-precise, smooth and practiced and Sam hadn’t even known he had a kink for that but his dick throbbed its approval, and Sam couldn’t even reach down to adjust where it pressed uncomfortably into the seam of his trousers.

It seemed his dick approved of that, too. 

_"Stop thinking so much."_ The words thrummed along his spine. Close against the back of his neck, the guy continued, "You can’t tell from the way you got in, but this is a very exclusive party." He pulled at Sam’s wrists to get him moving. "Keep your head down and go where I point you." 

Sam tucked his head down and felt the pull increase on his arms. The pressure from that hand swallowing his was just shy of painful, and he leaned into it, unsure if he wanted more or less of the sensation. A sliding glass door appeared, then opened in front of him, and he let himself be guided through it and into the carpeted hall beyond. 

The party sounds were louder here, but not on top of them like before. Sam let the man steer him through the sparse crowd and didn’t lift his head at all. He felt dreamy, almost drugged, and it was a long time before they reached another door.

The new room was actually quiet, a small bedroom set away from the main living space. Sam heard a lock snick shut and started to bring his head up to look around, but the guy’s free hand slid up his neck and pushed at the base of his skull until Sam got the point and dropped his chin again. His hands were suddenly free and blood flooded back in, making them tingle and burn. A warm pressure at the small of his back urged him forward toward the bed, and he went easily. 

Once his knees bumped into the mattress, clever fingers reached around him and unbuttoned his shirt. They stripped it off him slowly and cast it aside, then those hands came back up and closed warmly on his biceps. The guy leaned into Sam’s back, breath hot against his ear. "I don’t need a name, but I do need a safeword. You know what that is, right, newbie?"

Sam’s heart was pounding again, but those hands felt solid and right against his skin and his cock was hard enough to pound in nails. He drew in a shaky breath and whispered, "Princeton," on the exhale. Emboldened, he added, "And my name is Sam."

A low chuckle came from behind him. "That’s…" The hands ran warmth up and down his arms before coming to rest on his biceps again. "I’m gonna stick with Newbie. It’ll be less confusing that way."

Perplexed but game, Sam said simply, "Okay."

"Okay." The guy exhaled, blowing air out across Sam’s back. It made him shiver. At least, Sam liked to think that’s what made him shiver. "Let’s set some ground rules. Tell me what you want."

Sam tried to turn around, but those hands were holding him solidly in place. He swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room, and managed to say, "I…" before his brain caught up with his mouth and realized he had no idea what to say.

The amusement was back, the guy’s voice thick and husky with it. "You have no idea, do you?" It flowed over Sam like honey. "You seemed pretty interested in the floor show earlier. Are you looking for something like that?"

"No!" The squeak was back, and Sam did his best to banish it with his next words. "I’m not… there’s no way I’m ready for something like that." Truth be told, the idea scared the hell out of him, even if his cock didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. 

Warm laughter filled his ear and caressed his neck. "Good, because there’s no way I’d get into a scene like that with a newbie." He released Sam’s arms and trailed those hands across Sam’s chest, fingers splaying wide and open, sensitizing skin everywhere they touched. Sam leaned into the caress. He might have moaned again when those clever, clever fingertips raked across his nipple, but it could have been a noise from outside. 

Low and conspiratorial, the man whispered, "You just want to lose yourself for a while, stop thinking so much?" He scratched up Sam’s side, just hard enough not to tickle. "Get out of your head and into your skin, am I right?"

Sam groaned and nodded, his head moving against the other man’s chest, cradled as it was in the juncture of neck and shoulder.

"Lie down on the bed."

Sam did as he was told, surprised and a little apprehensive when he was guided onto his stomach instead of his back. A cabinet opened off to his left, then the bed dipped as the larger man came to kneel beside him. Something made a wet slurping kind of noise and fear spiked through Sam before he remembered he wasn’t even naked yet. He still had his pants – hell, he still had his shoes. 

Also, he told himself firmly, he’d agreed to anything, hadn’t he? Way to put it all on the table: _anything_ certainly didn’t leave a lot of room for bargaining, did it? Some politician he was. 

He hissed loudly when the cold goop landed on his back. "Stop thinking so damn much." Hands swooped through the stuff and pushed straight down, digging deep into long-tense shoulder muscles. Within moments, Sam was reduced to inarticulate moaning. 

Pressing and tugging, smoothing and rolling and pulling all the tension out of him, those hands worked him mercilessly. They were fearless, going everywhere with that same firm pressure, never light enough to tickle, never lingering in any one spot, always too strong and solid to be ignored. Sam barely noticed when the rest of his clothes came off, lost in what those hands were doing to his feet and legs and buttocks. He didn’t think about it when they coaxed him over onto his back, either, just went where they led, relishing their tug on his scalp and their stroke and slide over his face, luxuriating as they drifted down across his chest and abdomen. 

He’d hadn’t noticed that his erection had wilted until it started to fill again, but those hands didn’t pay it any more attention than any other part of him, moving on to his thighs and calves and running down the tops of his feet. They made their way back up, eventually, but this time they stopped a little longer to say hello, giving him a few firm, slick tugs, closing around his length from root to tip. Too soon, they moved on again, first to lavish attention on his balls, but then further away, sliding up the junction of leg and torso, running heavy along his hip. Sam tried to follow those hands, but one of them moved to his belly, spreading flat and wide, holding him down with a firm calculated pressure that kept him from thrusting up.

Once they reached his shoulders, those hands flipped him again. Desperate for some friction, Sam ground his cock into the mattress. The sharp, "Don’t," was punctuated by a loud _crack_ and a heavy, open slap that landed on his ass. He jumped, bucking against the body straddling his, only realizing in that moment that it was naked and hard too. 

He would have expected he’d freak out at that point. He certainly wouldn’t have said he _could_ get any harder. 

Sam thrust his ass up into the hard length above him, using his own hands for leverage until they were grabbed and dragged above his head, the sprawl of the body atop his accompanied by a low, "Keep them there," growled out into his ear. 

The full length contact was intoxicating: his skin sang with it, and the hunger Sam had barely been aware of surged up and bubbled out of him. Suddenly, his own hands needed to be _everywhere_ , greedy to touch every inch on offer, consuming as he’d been consumed only moments before. His partner seemed to sense the sea change, backing off enough to allow Sam to _move_ , not resisting when Sam flipped them over and started exploring every plane and crevice of his body with eager fingers and a greedy, greedy mouth.

He let Sam get his fill, relaxed and indulgent until he suddenly wasn’t anymore, until he grabbed and flipped with that scary precision that made Sam burn. Sam still squirmed and reached, hands threaded deep in thick shaggy hair, hissing as cold lube on long, strong fingers – make that long, strong, _clever_ fingers – thrust up deep inside him and sent sparks skidding across his brain the likes of which he’d never felt before. A cock soon replaced them, blunt and heavy and thick as it pushed its way inside, the stretch and burn countered by ten points of pressure on his hips, gripping hard, keeping him balanced and grounded, and sure to leave bruises that would last for weeks, but Sam was so far past caring, he actually _craved them_.

Too soon, the thrusts became erratic. Sam slammed himself backward to meet them, pushing against the weight above him, harder and harder. The fingers tightened further on his hips, gripping spasmodically, their tight clenching a silent accompaniment to those final scattershot thrusts. 

For a moment, Sam thought he was on his own, frustrated and half crushed beneath a heavy human blanket that he couldn’t – quite – bring himself to shove aside. He whimpered, the sound drawn from deep in his throat and was met instantly with the rumble of that knowing chuckle coming from the man above him. 

Cool air rushed Sam’s overheated skin, lasting only as long as it took to pull out and strip off a condom before he was pulled in tight against the other man’s chest. One hand reached down and wrapped against Sam’s cock, jacking him hard, palm to cock, sliding fast and snug and perfect, then suddenly changing up the rhythm just as he teetered on the edge. Sam wanted to scream, tried to reach in to finish himself off and got his arms pinned again above his head for his efforts. Gripped tight by one of those gargantuan hands, he struggled futilely, but then the pressure was building again, desperate friction and that warm feeling rising, tightening in his belly … close.. so close… then the bastard pulled back and did it again. And again. 

_And again._

It felt like he spent hours surging toward the edge then backing away again. Drifting, crashing, lost in nothing but sensation, existing nowhere but between the molecules of his own skin.

Finally, when Sam’s cursing and begging had been reduced to nothing but hoarse pleas and whispered promises of state secrets against the curve of his throat, the man released his grip on Sam’s hands and snaked his now-free hand down between Sam’s thighs. This time the pressure built and built, and there was no backing off. This time, those clever fingers thrust deep into Sam, timed just so with that solid, torturous pressure, and Sam’s world exploded all around him.

He will never admit that he passed out, but light was beginning to creep in past the drapes when he next opened his eyes. As soon as that registered, Sam scrambled for his watch, not finding it until it dangled in front of his face from behind, hanging from those clever, smug fingers. 

A sleep-warm voice said, "It’s almost 6:30. You want to grab a shower, or do you need a cab right away?"

A quick calculation revealed he was doomed to be late for his 7am breakfast with the Stanford Law Review staff either way. He sighed and sat up, groaning as he did. 

A low, extremely proprietary snicker issued from the bed behind him. He smacked it in the head with a pillow and stood up stiffly. "Shower?"

"Second door," he pointed to his left. "There’ll be a car ready when you’re done, but I can’t be here. I’ve gotta get to class."

Sam groaned. Somehow last night he’d never really noticed how very young his partner was. "Tell me you’re legal," he paused, wrapped in thought for a moment before he added, "even if you have to lie."

Lips twitching, the guy – _kid_ – said, "Legal, I swear" and crossed his heart like a five year old.

Sam hobbled off to the shower. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Just as Sam expected, the kid was gone by the time Sam was out from under the water. 

Seeing him two hours later in the front row of his Constitutional Law guest lecture was somewhat less expected. 

Sam’s fingers were so thick and clumsy that Corrina batted them away and tied a Windsor in his new tie herself. She had to give him a little shove toward the podium, but once there, he fell into the rhythm of his lecture easily enough.

Easily as long as Sam didn’t let his eyes stray to the front row, which was difficult because the kid simply didn’t know how to sit still. Those hands constantly moved over everything, fingers running over the strap of his backpack, back-and-forth, over-and-over when they weren’t caressing the arm of the blonde next to him instead. She was leaning in way too close, skimpy skirt showing a long length of thigh despite the chilly fall day, and she kept stroking the kid’s neck, forcing his head down like… 

Sam fumbled his lecture notes, vivid sense-memory rushing through him and singing along his nerves. He stumbled after them, gathering the papers up and, he hoped, hiding the full-body blush he could feel heating his skin. He thought he’d covered well, but when he gathered enough courage to look back out into the audience, the kid was grinning at him from under his eyelashes.

It was utterly intoxicating and Sam just stared back… until the damn blond started giggling. Sam snapped his mouth closed and launched back into his lecture just as the kid hissed loudly, "Cut it out, Jess!" at his companion.

It didn’t really matter that he’d skipped two pages of his notes. No one ever paid attention to the seventh and eighth amendments anyway. 

At least he managed not to limp his way off stage when he was finally done.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One fundraiser-brunch, two speeches and an alumni dinner later, Sam slumped into his business class seat. The plane was no Air Force One, but it would get him back to Orange, back to his empty home and emptier bed. He shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable on the poorly-cushioned seat, and his movement pressed the seatbelt against a lump in his pocket. He reached in deep and came out with his blue-checked Armani tie.

Sam stared at it for a minute, then unrolled it and smoothed it out slowly between his fingers. He’d been doing that for a while when the green post-it on the floor caught his eye. 

_Sam Winchester, (415) 555-2318_

He really needed to send Corrina some flowers.

 

~fin~ _(at least until I get around to the sequels in my head)_

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is in beta as I type and will be posted next weekend (which is why I figured it was time to get this part up on AO3)! There's also a third part that's actually has plot, but I'm not promising that will ever get written (though my brain really does like these two, so...).


End file.
